


Witch and Wizard

by ashadeofpemberley, ifishouldvanish, Mysticknightsofscotland, RumbelleEvents, thespinningmeanie



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, FINISH THIS 2018, Finish this, GROUP BLACK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:37:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashadeofpemberley/pseuds/ashadeofpemberley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysticknightsofscotland/pseuds/Mysticknightsofscotland, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumbelleEvents/pseuds/RumbelleEvents, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespinningmeanie/pseuds/thespinningmeanie
Summary: The little witch was special beyond her blossoming powers. The wizard knew it well. A curse was destined to be broken, but who would pay the cost?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ALL FICS RATED M FOR SAFETY.
> 
> Chapter 1 writer: @thespinningmeanie  
> PROMPT: WITCH

Belle wandered alone down a beaten path. She was trying to hold herself together, to stop the tears that gathered in her eyes from falling. It had been two months since her Mama died and left her under the care of her Papa. Her loving Papa who doted on her very much was replaced by a man Belle would either find pass out on the couch or a drunk with an ill temper.

She didn’t really know where she was headed, only that she needed to get away fast from the taunts of her classmates and that she doesn’t want to go home yet.

At a young age she knew she was different - special, her Mama reassured her that she was whenever she confided in her. Mama was her strength, she taught her that by being brave bravery would soon follow.

Belle hoped she was doing it now but her steps falter when she felt a chill in the air. She knows what’s in front of her - an evil spirit who hasn’t found rest yet. Some of them only yearned to rest but some causes harm to the living. Belle ignored the spirit and tried to walked around it. It seemed to work, so she let her guard down then it grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her to the ground.

She winced when she tried to get up while the spirit glared menacingly, about to lunge at her.

Belle closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to come but it didn’t.

Slowly she opened her eyes and was greeted by the sight of a man dressed in an eccentric fashion, a top hat resting atop his head, his umbrella swinging back and forth in his hands.

“Hello.” The strange man said as he held out his hand to help her stand.

“Thank you.” She was gratified that he helped her but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a stranger who have powers to vanquish evil spirits as it seems. She almost asked him if he’s a friend of -

“So what are you doing here in the woods?”

Instead of answering him she asked him the same. “What about you? Why are you doing here?”

He gaped at her and shook his head. “Nevermind that. I’m Jefferson.”

“Izzy.” She took his proffered hand and shook it.

“Would you mind helping me? Like I did with you.”

“You mean help you stand?” She said, testing the waters. “You’re funny Jefferson.”

“Oh Come on! Y’know what I’m talking about.”

She took a hasty step back only then she felt a finger gently twirl her hair.

“Let me take care of him, pet.” She heard him whisper and she knew that she’s safe. She watched her friend straightened and made the scariest face she’s ever seen him make.

“What did I tell you about entering my domain unannounced Hatter!” He bellowed interrupting Jefferson’s tirade. Rumplestiltskin’s  lips pulled to a snarl, he is doing everything he can in maintaining that facade but it dropped immediately when he heard Belle giggle at his performance. Damnation, the little witch made him soft.

“R-Rumplestiltskin!” Jefferson stuttered, the sudden appearance of the Dark One startled him.

“This little witch here is under my protection Hatter. So unless you’re looking for a way to abolish your efforts in becoming one of those pesky deities I dare you to scare her again.”

“I wasn’t scared.” Belle said, deciding to join in the conversation. Rumple scowled at her dejectedly and she sheepishly apologized for cutting short  his fun. She watched him slumped at a tree like a sulking child and she let him be, knowing his spirits will be back later.

She glanced at Jefferson and she thought his head might get torn off from his neck because he was shaking it back and forth at her and the sulking imp. “Rumple didn’t turn you into a snail. You must be his friend.”

“I- He told you that?” She could sense that he was going to say something more so she stayed silent. “Of course! I am dear Rumple’s friend. Did you know that -

“Shut the lies Hatter.” Rumplestiltskin twittered, sulkiness all gone and the twittering imp is back.

“It’s getting late. I’m going home now.” Two heads turned on her direction, Rumple’s face crumpled but he nodded his ascent.

“Don’t worry Rumple, even if I’m not your best friend I still consider you mine.”

She faced her back to them, hiding her grin. She had only taken a few steps when she heard him wailing. “Belle!”

“Wait for me! I thought her name was Izzy?”

She ran deeper into the forest but this time she had a clear picture on where she is headed. She knows the way like the back of her hand, she knew home.

Belle squealed when Rumple caught her, he lifted her of the ground and they spin. Their laughter echoed and Jefferson watched them with curious eyes.

Rumple carried her on his back on the rest of the way to his castle, she kept chattering with him about her week although she avoided telling him that her classmates continued their name calling.

Jefferson joined in and occasionally replied. She could see that Rumple trusts him and  Belle considered that he might make a good friend. But no matter how many friends she might have Rumple is her best and dearest friend.

“Off you go to the library, dearie. The books are waiting for you.”

It felt like he’s hiding something from her but his eyes sincerely pleaded for her to understand that he’s not to make her leave, perhaps when Jefferson leave Rumple will tell her. Belle beamed at him and the worry coloring his face faded. She ran off, unable to contain her excitement to read the new books Rumple has provided for her whenever she visited.

“You knew.” Jefferson cowed at him as he crowded Rumplestiltskin’s personal space. He jumped up and down like a child on his birthday but Rumple paid him no mind, his attention was solely focused on the fading image of the brave little witch walking away from them.

He snapped his fingers and a crimson smoke enveloped them. When the smoke receded a clawed hand shot out and slammed Jefferson to the wall.

“Rumple, you -” Jefferson choked and Rumplestiltskin’s fingers tightened on his throat.

“I am well aware that had I not intervened you would go and try serve her up in a silver plate to me again, Jefferson.” He growled, his golden eyes cracked with fury.

“But I only asked her to get the hat for me. No one can enter your pri-”

Rumplestiltskin almost crushed his windpipe before releasing him and Jefferson slumped at the wall, heaving deep breaths.

He tried connecting the pieces all together. Rumple is overprotective of the girl. The girl - Izzy trusted him. Rumple is letting her peruse his library full of magical tomes. Then it clicked to him.

“When Izzy and I first met I was wearing a disguise.” He stated but Rumple ignored him and continued browsing the cabinet, gathering ingredients for a potion he’s probably brewing.

He sighed and admitted to the accusations thrown at him earlier. “I know who she is Rumple. That’s why I sent her to you. Either she get me the hat or you killed her.”

Rumplestiltskin abruptly turned around, crooked yellow stained teeth barred.

“And what, dearie, are you hoping to get when you executed that little plan?”

“That you’ll help me.”

He tsks. “So you’ve gotten tired and decided to take the easy way out.”

“No that’s not-“

“I wonder what little Gracie would say.” He taunted Jefferson and the man fumed just as he expected.

“I was helping by giving Izzy to you. I didn’t expect to see her again alive and well and protected.”

“Hatter, what you knew about Belle will stay between us.  No one of our world should become aware of her existence. If they had gotten wind of your interactions with her tell them you were trying to con her into getting that hat of yours but didn’t succeed.”

“Why?”

“She is under my protection, Jefferson.”

“But you could’ve been -“

His explanation was caught short when Rumplestiltskin threw the hat he was looking for. That hat opened passage ways to other realms. Rumplestiltskin giving it to him only means that the price is his silence about Belle.

“Be careful in using it.” He added. “If they caught you simply tell them that the Dark One gave it in exchange of a child you’ve conned.”

The door barged open, and to their astonishment, white rabbits went in and one even hopped inside the hat in Jefferson’s hands.

“Rumple, look! I summoned them and I had one perform a trick.”

Belle followed the rabbits inside, quite proud of what she’d achieved. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think me turning people and spirits into snails are still more amusing.” He replied blandly.

“You did great little rabbit!” Jefferson praised her, he got teary eyed because Belle’s enthusiasm reminded him of his Gracie. He bid them both goodbyes as he prepares the hat to jump back to his realm but before he could leave Belle called him back.

“Thank you for sending me to Rumple’s castle to get your hat, Jefferson.”

He glanced at Rumplestiltskin, his eyes steely, body tense as he waited for Jefferson’s response.

“You take care of our sulky imp then, Izzy!”

They watched Jefferson hop inside the hat and disappeared along with it. Belle held onto Rumple’s hand while she raised her free one, then she murmured an incantation and the rabbits thrashing the lab vanished from sight.

“Very good, pet.” She heard his praise and the pride in his tone. Belle tried stifling her yawn but Rumple’s enhanced hearing caught it. “Time to go home.”

“This is home. I want to stay with you.” He chuckled and bent down to carry her in his arms. “You’re growing heavy, this castle spoils you too much.”

“I think the master likes me well enough to feed me.” She threw back at him as they made their way down the stairs. “I’m serious Rumple. I want to stay and never leave.”

“I thought you want to travel, pet.”

“Being with you is already an adventure.” Her voice was slightly muffled due to her burying her head in his neck. He smelled of spice, wood, and magic and it soothes her more.

A crimson smoke enveloped them and teleported them to Belle’s room. There he gently laid her in the bed and tucked her in. After he made sure of the wards he’d enforced around her house was strong he leaves.

His remembered Jefferson asking him if he knew as the golden scales that covered him receded and gave way to the pinkish skin of mortals. Then whisky brown replaced his gold flecked amber eyes when he breathed one word

 “Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 writer: @ashadeofpemberley
> 
> PROMPT: KNIFE

_3 Months Earlier_

 

Mama wasn’t going to wake up.

The words from the doctors faded into indistinct murmurs as Belle French slowly came to the realization that her mother, her best friend, her only friend, was not going to see her graduate from high school. It was a small milestone at best, truly insignificant in comparison to all that Belle wanted to accomplish in her life, but the swiftness with which her world was crumbling stole the air from her lungs. Annette French had slipped into a coma six months before her 50th birthday after spending the day in her greenhouse. No one could explain what had caused it; it was a like a spell had been cast over her and no matter how many times Belle left tearstained kisses on her mother’s forehead, her eyes remained tightly shut.

Papa had already started to withdraw from her. Doctor Whale said it was common for husbands in his situation and would come around once he had fully grieved. Though he never said it aloud, Belle knew he partially blamed her for her mother’s condition.

“Damned superstitious nonsense,” was his normal response to his wife and daughter’s little stories. For her 12th birthday, Belle had been given a tiny book of spells from her mother with a note telling her how the book had been passed down to the youngest daughter of her mother’s family. Annette had passed it off as a family joke, something her mother had given to her when she was Belle’s age.

“My grandmother said that her mother stole this book from a powerful sorcerer she had seen leaving a mansion in the woods. But when she tried to return to the sorcerer’s hideaway it had vanished. I tried a few spells for fun when I first got the book, but none of them worked.” she said as Belle’s eyes scanned the worn pages with unbound curiosity. For several years the leather bound book sat on one of the countless shelves that made up the majority of Belle’s room. Her mother never mentioned it to her again except on her thirteenth birthday when she nervously asked if Belle shown it to anyone. She, of course, hadn’t-- no teenage girl who already carried the label of geek needed the extra baggage of having others think she believed in magic. Annette seemed relieved by this knowledge and let the matter drop after confirming its place in Belle’s room.

But her mother’s continuing concern for the book had renewed Belle’s curiosity in its contents.

Flipping through its pages, Belle found that the so called spells it contained were fairly harmless, almost mundane. A spell to help roses grow, another for turnips, there was even a recipe for a tonic that was supposed to cure bad breath. Finally she settled on attempting a spell that would turn flowers blue. Her parent’s small flower shop had been struggling for months now and having a novelty product like blue roses was sure to drum up some business for them. The next day, Belle snuck in the necessary supplies to the shop’s greenhouse in her bookbag and got to work.

If she was being honest with herself, she felt silly the for the first couple minutes. Whispering short incantations whilst drawing foreign symbols in the dirt was not going to improve her already ready shaky reputation should someone walk in on her.

She spent the afternoon in the greenhouse, making sure to stop by every rosebush and perform her little spell before watering the plants. Even if it didn’t work, she still would at least get her chores down before dinner. Though her father never truly got angry with her, he often scolded her for being too distracted by either her books or her daydreams to water the residents of the greenhouse before their soil began to crack and crumble and their leaves faded to a sickly yellow.

Belle waited a good two extra hours to see if the spell had taken effect yet, but not even so much as a light purple had come over the roses. Her mother had called her in for dinner a good ten minutes ago and quite frankly Belle had found it funny that she ever thought this would work to begin with.

So when her father shouted for her and his wife to come down to the greenhouse the next morning, she never considered that her afternoon of magic would have anything to do with it.

But oh did it ever.

Everything was blue. The roses, the daisies, even the small tomato plant they kept in the corner had turned a shocking cerulean hue. But it looked like the spell had taken it upon itself to up the ante as further investigation uncovered that even the roots of every plant had turned blue overnight.

Her father’s first thought was vandals, but, as her mother gently pointed out, it hardly seemed likely that there were any vandals on the planet that would attack a greenhouse with such an unusual goal nor would they have time to dye everything and put it back without getting caught by the timed lock on the door.

Belle’s father then turned to her. “Did you forget to set the lock on the door before you left here yesterday, Belle?”

“No, Papa, I’m sure that I set it,” she shook her head. That much was at least true, but once she caught her mother’s eye and saw that knowing look that never failed to wring the truth out of her, Belle knew she had been caught.

After palacating her husband as best she could and sending him off to see about advertising their new stock, Annette French turned her attention towards her daughter.

“Did you have something to do with this Belle?” she asked calmly. Belle nodded her head miserably, making her curly chestnut hair fall in front of her eyes. She never meant for it to go this far, never expected what was supposed to be a harmless afternoon of make-believe to turn into something so unexpected.

“Did you use you book I gave you?”

Another nod.

“Do you want to try it again?”

 

With that final question, Belle was thrown into the secret life of the descendants of the Dames Blanches. Dames Blanches was an ancient society of women once said to be restless spirits that tormented travelers but were really much less threatening figures. Namely witches.

The story about Belle’s great-great grandmother was only partially true- she had been given the book of spells from a sorcerer, a powerful wizard that lived in the woods behind the Blanche family’s estate. In exchange for a small cottage, the wizard taught the children of the estate how to perform spells to ensure the prosperity of their gardens and livestock. For several years the estate flourished and the plants and animals that came from her family’s land were the envy of the entire town. It was not to last though, as a stable hand caught one of the children practicing a healing spell late one night on one of their horses.The townspeople soon heard of the wizard living in the woods and decided to burn the forest and her great-great grandmother’s estate to the ground as punishment for harboring witches.

The wizard was never caught however, and the remains of the cottage were never found among the ashes.

The only evidence that any of this was ever real was a long rusted knife that no one could remember the Blanche family owning and a tiny leatherbound book full of simple harvest spells. It had been smuggled out by the youngest daughter of the estate--her great-great grandmother, Annabelle Blanche, and the only surviving member of the Blanche family.

Covered in ash and grief she created and placed a powerful curse on the land so that none but a daughter of Blanche could ever revive it. Over the years the magic that had struck such fear into the hearts of the townsfolk faded from memory into myth, but the curse still held. The townspeople had forgotten that they had come to rely on the hearty produce that came from the estate and within a few years the town had been abandoned.

Much was the same for Annabelle and her descendants. With every generation the magic that once flowed through the Blanche family line grew weaker until one year it was discovered that a daughter from the house of Blanche could no longer perform magic at all. After that the book was given to the youngest daughter of the Blanche family as a reminder of all that their family had been and all that the matriarch of their family had done.

Belle was the first daughter in thirty years to ever show a trace of magic in her blood and now it seemed as if she had inherited all of the dormant magic of her forbearers at once. Her mother could barely contain her excitement as she recalled all of the tales the late Annabelle Blanche that had been told to her when she was a girl. Apparently the curse had become more complicated over time as Annabelle Blanche had gone back to her home at the ripe age of 92 and tried repeatedly to lift the curse on their family’s land but to no avail.

“It is said that at that the moment in which Annabelle cast her curse she was so filled with both bitterness and innocence that her magic split into both dark and light.” Her mother spoke of her great-grandmother with a reverence that one might reserve for a queen or deity.

“So it serves to follow that only the powers of both dark and light magic can undo it and by then it was too late for Annabelle to fix her mistake.”

“But Mama, I don’t know dark magic, so how are we going to undo her curse?” A fifteen year-old Belle replied practically to her mother’s story. Over the past two years her magic had grown slowly but surely thanks to her mother’s careful tutoring and encouragement. But she still couldn’t do much more than grow flowers and occasionally some vegetables (turnips always gave her trouble).

“I know, and I hope you never will.” Her mother would always reply with a sigh. “You see, when Annabelle cast that curse I don’t believe she ever meant for it to be such a burden on her children and grandchildren but that’s the trouble with magic: it always comes with a price and you have to be prepared to pay it.”

“Who knows, Mama? Maybe one day we’ll come up with a new spell to undo the curse altogether.”

“Maybe, sweetheart, maybe.”

Annette looked down at her daughter who had now snuggled into bed and was holding her spellbook under her pillow, never realizing that Belle’s words had been all too serious and that the real trouble was just about to start.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 writer: @ifishouldvanish
> 
> PROMPT: STRAW

She was getting stronger.

That much was clear.

Summoning rabbits had given rise to summoning larger creatures. Deer, goats, and bears. Fantastic beasts plucked right from her own imagination. She almost hadn’t been able to dismiss one of them in time before it set loose into the forest.

She’d also given him a great oak tree in the gardens some weeks ago, and that he’d allowed to stay.

Rumplestiltskin watched out the window as she climbed the thing, making friends with the critters who had happily taken up residence in its plentiful leaves and branches. She’d talk to the birds, and they’d talk back in songs only she seemed to understand the words to.

His spinning wheel sat neglected as he watched her settle comfortably in the tree and pull a book out from her bag. It was a different one than yesterday, and he smiled.

His little witch was a little bookworm.

A much happier one too, than the one who’d traipsed onto his land those few years ago, blue eyes wet with tears.

Her protests against going home had gradually ceased, her comments about being picked on no more. He supposed it was possible that her father had improved, that her peers had learned some compassion. But deep in his heart he knew that she was learning to rise above those things. Finding her inner strength.

She would need that.

Her magic was coming in clouds of white and gold, a marked counter from his own deep reds and purples.

He'd always known her magic was different from his, but as she developed her powers, the difference grew more pronounced.

Being in the same room was beginning to effect his own magic in strange ways, too.

Unpredictable, it seemed.

Some days it felt as though they were two halves of a whole, perfectly in sync. Others, like two opposing forces incapable of coexisting.

Rumplestiltskin had never experienced such a thing before, but he wouldn't let on just how much it worried him. Magic was his domain, the thing he'd dedicated himself to teaching her, and yet…

Lately he found himself bumbling like some sort of amateur on more days than not.

It was only a week ago that they had been in the forest and crossed paths with one of those pesky evil spirits. It had been a particularly powerful one she couldn't banish herself, but it had also been one of his unfortunate days, and Rumplestiltskin going himself thanking his lucky stars when he'd been able to work his magic just in time to protect her.

She'd smiled and cheered, thrown her arms around him happily, seeming unaware of just how close of a call it had been.

His little witch, almost swept away, because he was losing his touch!

The thought sickened him!

It was the same thought that had brought him to his spinning wheel this afternoon. After all, spinning straw had always helped him organize his thoughts, clear his head. Find perspective.

Of course, he still hadn't spun a single thread.

He blinked away the fog of his thoughts, and realized that his little witch wasn't reading anymore, but writing. A squirrel scampered into her lap, and she spoke to it and laughed, smiled.

And now he was smiling again, too.

Her smiles were such contagious things, a sort of magic all their own.

Rumplestiltskin scowled, feeling his magic falter again. A tingle in his fingers, a tightness in his chest. He shook his head and turned his focus back to his wheel.

Straw to gold, straw to gold. Simple magic.

Surely a few hours of this would set him back to rights, he thought.

He'd spun two bushels of straw into gleaming gold thread and was beginning a third when she appeared beside him.

“Rumple?”

The thread he'd been working on snapped, and he muttered a curse to himself.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Yes, Belle?”

She pressed her lips together and grabbed a fistful of her skirt. “There's something I'd like to ask you.” she said.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Like what?”

“Well, it–” she blushed, “it's rather personal.”

Rumplestiltskin sighed and put on a smile. “Anything, pet.”

“Have you always had magic?” she asked. “Were you born with it, like me?”

A curious question, Rumplestiltskin thought.

“No.” he answered simply, his eyes fixed on the wheel.

“How…” she trailed off and shook her head, sitting beside him. “How did you acquire it, then?”

Memories flooded his thoughts. Painful ones, of his father, of Milah, of Bae.

“That's a long story, pet.” he sighed. “Much too long.”

She frowned, but seemed to see the excuse for what it was. “I understand.”

They sat in silence for a moment, looking out the window, at her oak tree.

“Well, I'd love to hear it someday.” she said, laying a hand on his back reassuringly.

He took in the setting sun, flecks of pinks and oranges poking through the cover of the trees, and cleared his throat. “Well, pet,” he said, “I think it's time you started on home, now.”

“I know,” she sighed, but she didn't make any move to leave. Instead she slouched and let her head drop to his shoulders. “Just… a few more minutes.”

“A few.” he told her sternly, and they sat still at his wheel, watching out the window as the pinks and oranges deepened into purples and blues.

“Do you think it's possible for dark magic to turn to light?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Our books.” she said. “There's all sorts of stories and accounts of light magic turning to dark. Being corrupted by a wielder’s less than honorable motives.”

“There certainly are.”

“But I don't believe I've ever read a story about someone's dark magic turning to light because they chose to do the right thing.”

“Nor have I, pet.”

“I’d like to.” she said. “It never seems to take much for someone to lose their light. But what do you think it would take, hm? For someone to earn it back? Would it be enough for them to simply find the light? Or would they have to make a sacrifice to it?

“That sounds like a discussion for tomorrow, dearie.” Rumple said. “Now, up. It's time for you to head on home.”

Belle picked her head up off his shoulder and blinked sleepily at him. “...Alright.” she smiled, getting up and fetching her cloak.

He could already feel his magic returning to its proper state as she prepared to leave. But as his magic came back to him, it seemed that something else had left him, as if to vacate the space.

“Goodnight, Rumple,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.

And just like that, that something else returned.

“Goodnight, pet.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter writer: @mysticknightsofscotland
> 
> PROMPT: QUESTION

As Belle's high school graduation drew closer, Rumplestiltskin saw less and less of his little witch. More often than not these days, when she was able to visit, she spent more time studying arithmetic and science than magic.

He supposed it was only a matter of time, after all. Crossing realms from the Land Without Magic was nearly impossible for mortals. The innocent belief of youth was what made “imaginary friends” and places like Neverland possible. But all childhoods must come to an end, even Belle's. As the time between visits grew longer, Rumple wondered if the day would come when his little witch lost her belief, her magic, and her interest in spending time with and old imp like him.

He stood at his tower window most afternoons, watching for any sign of her return. He'd seen her coming that first day, too. The fool of a hatter thought he'd been doing him a favor, sending the last daughter of Blanche to his castle, gift-wrapped for slaughter. What monster in his right mind would turn down the chance to be free from its chains? Perhaps Rumple was the fool after all, because monster or no, he had not been willing to kill a child. Even more so now that he had watched this particular child grow into a young woman over the years of their acquaintance.

The trouble with myths is that they almost never contain the whole truth on their subject. Both Belle and Jefferson thought they knew the story of the Dames Blanches, but they had opposing sides of the tale, distorted through generations, and both incomplete. Rumple would know.

He was there.

He'd been an ordinary peasant once. A good, moral man with a beautiful family. When the war came, he refused to fight, refused to harm another thinking being. His elderly father mocked him for a coward, but his fairy godmother blessed him with healing magics for his convictions. She trained him to aid the wounded, and after the war to use his power to help crops and livestock grow. He had a purpose, and it was good.

But his father and wife soured on his generosity. They wanted him to charge more for his services so that they could live in luxury, gambling away more than they earned. He refused. Things got so bad between them that Rumple divorced Milah and took their son Baelfire with him.

They settled in a town far away from home where father and son could start over. Rumple struck a deal with the largest farmstead, to teach the Blanche family harvest magics in exchange for a small cottage on the property. Life was good for a time. He even tried to teach Bae magic, but the boy showed no aptitude for it, preferring to tend to the sheep whose wool Rumple would spin and weave into cloth.

But all good things come burning down.

He'd thought Bae was safe inside the cottage when he'd whisked it away out of reach of the flames. He'd been too busy trying to save the Blanches from the mob of anti-magic townsfolk that he didn't realize the price of that night's magic until it was over.

He found Bae among the charred remains of the sheep. They hadn't even made it out of sight of the paddock.

Annabelle Blanche, the youngest and only surviving daughter, found him there and demanded his help in cursing the land so that the townsfolk would suffer and starve for what they did. Bereft of his only son, Rumple knew he would have agreed to any punishment Annabelle might have asked for in that moment. He took the long knife Bae had carried for protecting the sheep and stabbed the blade into the ground, channeling their curse directly into the scorched earth.

The corruption of his magic manifested immediately, crawling across his skin in glistening golden scales from his hands to his face until every inch of him was changed. The worst of it wouldn't be revealed until later: with his life in ruins at his feet, having nothing left to live for, Rumple would come to realize that even death now shunned him.

Annabelle had escaped to another realm by the time he thought to try to undo the curse.

That was some time ago. He'd given up hope of redemption long before Jefferson sent the little witch his way. Now the means of breaking the curse were in his grasp, but it all seemed so less urgent now. What did it matter if the land around an abandoned town remained fallow? Rumple had certainly done worse with his darkened magic since then, starting with turning his enemies into snails, to state the most obvious example. He'd much rather watch his not-so-little-anymore witch graduate high school.

It wasn't the first time he'd visited Storybrooke. He'd often had to bring Belle home himself in the beginning, before her magic had grown strong enough not to wear her out after a few simple spells. But it was the first time he would venture out in public.

The lack of magic in this land always made him feel weak. It wasn't much of a problem when he was just dropping Belle off and returning home, but today he would be here for a few hours at least. The only good thing was that he wouldn't need a glamour spell to hide his appearance. Within minutes of arriving in Storybrooke, his scales always faded and he would appear as he had when he was mortal.

No one paid him much mind as he worked his way along the stands, searching for a seat among the crowd. They were too busy watching the steady stream of students in matching robes cross the makeshift dais in the middle of the field as their names were read aloud. He reached the end without finding an opening around the time the herald announced a lad named Fitzcairn. Rumple sighed and resigned himself to standing off to the side.

Isabelle French was announced not long after. The lonely shout of pride from somewhere in the crowd could only have been her father, but Rumple was transfixed by his little witch teetering on ridiculous heels as she crossed the dais.

She was beautiful, even from a distance. Strong, confident, brilliant, poised to take on a future that left little time for realm-crossing liaisons to learn magic that was unpredictable at best in this land. She belonged here, and the thought made his blood run cold.

The ceremony was concluding when Rumple realized the cold had nothing to do with his fears for the future. The chill was in the air, but only noticeable to a few. He scanned the crowd, searching. If only he could find the source before the evil spirit made its move. The cold was bone-deep down, a sign of a dangerously strong spirit. Parents were reuniting with their graduates now, and he had lost track of Belle. He had to move.

As the stands emptied, he went against the flow and climbed several rows in order to get a better vantage point. One robed youth looked much like the next. That is, except for the one that seemed to walk through people as if they weren't there.

Rumple trailed the spirit as best he could from six rows up. When it passed a gap in the crowd, he got a better look at it and almost lost his footing.

_Seven hells, no!_

He scrambled to get down the stands before the spirit could find Belle, cursing himself for ever thinking it was a good idea to come here. That spirit... it ought to be coming after him, not her. Never her. It was his fault it was here. It must have followed when he crossed realms.

He'd made it to the lowest bench when he caught a glimpse of Belle with her father. She was smiling, unaware of the danger. He drew in a breath to warn her, but it was too late. The spirit grabbed her, and they disappeared in an instant.

“No!”

Rumple teleported himself back to his realm, not caring what people might think if they saw. There was only one place the spirit could have taken Belle, and it was the last place Rumple would have wanted this confrontation.

He reappeared in a barren field. There was no sign of the evil spirit, but Belle gave a cry of relief and hurled herself into his arms, sobbing in terror.

“It's all right, pet,” he lied. “I'm here now.” He stroked her hair while keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings.

“It came out of nowhere, Rumple. It was so strong.” Belle trembled in his arms. “How did it get to Storybrooke?”

“Hush now, pet. It's not done with us yet.”

“What?” Belle looked up to him for an explanation, but he didn't take his eyes off the spirit standing in front of him.

It had been over a century since Rumplestiltskin had stood on Blanche lands, mourning his beautiful boy, but the spirit seemed little changed from who it had been in life. Angrier, for certain, but still the same slight frame and brown curls.

“Why are you here, Bae?” he asked. “Why now, after all this time?” His heart was breaking in his chest, torn between fear and despair. His son wasn't supposed to be trapped in the spirit realm. He'd comforted himself in the knowledge that a boy so pure and innocent and brave couldn't possibly be punished by the gods in such a way. Baelfire deserved nothing less than to be at peace.

And yet, here he was. The spirit raised an arm to point at the ground between them. Half-buried by ash and debris was the long knife Rumple and Annabelle had used to curse the land.

“Rumple?” Belle asked, looking from the spirit to the knife, and back to him. “What does he mean? Who is he?”

“Was,” Rumplestiltskin corrected. “It's a spirit, dearie. It hasn't been who it was for some time now.”

The spirit scowled and advanced until it stood directly over the knife. Its fists clenched at its sides and its ink black eyes locked on Rumple's.

_Kill her, papa. Kill the witch and I'll be free._

“Bae, no.” His son's voice in his head shook him. It sounded just like him, so real, more real than his memories could ever match.

_It's her family's fault I died! It's her family's fault I couldn't move on! Kill her, and the curse breaks._

“No,” Rumple whispered. “Not her fault. Mine. It's my fault.” His throat was tight.

“Rumple? What did he say?” Belle squeezed his arm. “Why are you crying?”

The breath he drew was shaky, but he summoned all the fierceness he could and stepped away from his little witch.

“You're not my son,” he snarled at the spirit. “I don't know who you are or who sent you, but Baelfire would never wish for an innocent's death.”

_It's the only way, papa!_

“Stop! You are not my son!” His voice cracked, and he tasted salt on his lips. “Stop sounding like him.”

Gentle hands pulled him back, and his brave little witch stepped between him and the spirit.

“Baelfire,” Belle said, “I'm so sorry you died. It was a fire, wasn't it?” As she spoke, she inched forward until she could reach down and pick up the knife. “It's okay if you don't want to talk to me, because I promise I will make things right. I'll break the curse.” Slow movements, soft words, all unbelievably strong or incredibly naive.

The evil spirit slammed into her when she moved to stand, knocking her back to the ground. Rumple's hand reached out to push it away from her with his magic before he even realized what he was doing. Bae's face looked at him with such betrayal, he almost apologized. Instead, he helped Belle to her feet.

“Did it hurt you, pet?” he asked.

_You're choosing her over your own son? Papa, why?_

Belle dusted herself off and shook her head. “I'm okay. I can break the curse, but I'm going to need your help.” To his bewilderment, she knelt on the ground and began drawing symbols in the dirt with the knife.

_You can't trust her, papa! You have to stop her!_

The evil spirit rushed at Belle again, but this time Rumple stepped between them and caught it in his arms. The force of it almost knocked him over, but then something shifted and suddenly it was _inside_ him.

He fell to his knees. He could feel it moving, a second consciousness settling in beside his own. Possessing him? He tried to gather his thoughts, figure out how to expel it from his body. But then it spoke.

_Papa._

Rumple gasped, fresh tears springing to his eyes. It was really him. Baelfire's memories were there, just as easy to see as his own. Every moment, right up to their last conversation when Rumple had told him to stay in the cottage while he went to help the Blanches escape the mob.

“Oh, Bae. I'm sorry, son.”

_You can't let her do this, papa. You'll die._

“What about you, Bae? With the curse broken, you'll be at peace, yes?”

_Yes, but Papa –_

“My life would be a small price to pay for your happiness, Bae. I'd finally be able to join you.”

Tuning out the continued objections, Rumple turned to Belle. A quick glance at the runes she had drawn told him she must have been studying for this moment for some time. She'd known of her importance, then, even though he'd never spoken of it.

“My great-great grandmother tried to lift this curse once, but couldn't do it,” Belle explained as she finished up the last of the markings. “That's because she needed light _and_ dark magic to do it.”

“Yes,” he said, simply. He took the knife from her, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and placing her hand atop his. He held her there until her blue eyes met his. “At least I got to see you one last time... Belle.”

Before her confused look could give way to questions, Rumplestiltskin plunged the knife into the ground. Bright light radiated out from the blade, sweeping across the ground. A wave of green followed as plants sprung back to life. Grass, moss, and wildflowers transformed the dismal dirt and ash into a field full of promise.

A tingling in his hands made him look down. Golden scales were fading back into pink, mortal skin. The transformation worked its way up his arms just as it had a century ago. When the sensation reached his chest, he drew in a deep breath full of the fresh scents of spring and felt Bae's spirit leaving him.

_I love you, papa._

As the light faded, he responded in his heart and mind, _And I love you, Bae. See you soon._

The moment the spell ended, Rumplestiltskin collapsed. Panicked, Belle tried to shake him awake, calling his name over and over. He looked human now, but that was a good thing, wasn't it? She had suspected that he had been cursed, but removing the curse shouldn't have harmed him, she thought. Remembering the movies and television shows she'd seen, she checked his pulse. She couldn't find it, and he didn't seem to be breathing either. Her hands flew to her mouth. Had she killed her best friend?

She looked around frantically, but there was no one to help. Even the evil spirit that may have been his son was gone. She had so many questions that she might never get answers to now if Rumple was dead.

Blinking away her tears, she kissed him goodbye.

His last words lingered in her thoughts. Despite everything, he seemed to have known it would be his end, and that was the comfort she would cling to. The final stroke had been his choice to make, and he hadn't hesitated.

Pulling away from him, she was startled to see him staring at her.

“Belle?”

“You're alive!” she exclaimed. “Oh, thank God, Rumple. I thought you were dead.” She helped him sit up, then wrapped him in a hug. Slowly, his hand came to rest on her back.

“I can't feel my magic,” Rumple said.

Belle sat back to look him in the eyes. They were brown now, and harder to read than his amber eyes had been. “It's a bit like losing a limb, isn't it?”

Rumple frowned. “Not quite so painful. Just... missing. Empty.”

She took his hands in hers. “Then I know the perfect way for you to adjust until it comes back. Come home to Storybrooke with me?”


End file.
